


Deceit and Deception

by Echovous



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drinking & Talking, Drinking to Cope, Drunkenness, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Suspicions, The Red War (Destiny)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-03-07 11:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echovous/pseuds/Echovous
Summary: The Traveler has been attacked, possibly even destroyed; although, that would have to be impossible. Regardless, Shiro’s connection to the Light had been cut off. It’s gone. He’s powerless. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his ship is trashed. He has no way of getting back to Earth. At least before Drifter showed up.





	1. Chapter 1

It was 8:30, City time, and nearing midnight on Mars. In orbit, suspended low in Mars’ atmosphere, Shiro-4 sat in the cockpit of his jumpship, reclined at a slight angle. He stared out at the dark Martian landscape beneath him, and the specks of distant lights. 

“Three high-value targets, five recons, and a handful of Cabal oil seizures,” His Ghost, Aimi, ran through the mission report. “Decent work for a slow day.” 

Slow day. Those two words defined all of his scouting missions these days—if you could still call them that. His assignments of late seem more like glorified patrols than actual scout work. Which he’ll tolerate. It’s work that needs to be done, no matter how meager it may seem. But even though he’ll do the work, he can’t help but miss the thrill of the hunt, the quiet, the still, and the slight tension in his muscles as he waited, sometimes days, for the perfect shot. 

Those days of chasing Barons and Kells are gone now. The Fallen Houses are no more. House of Wolves is scattered, left without leadership. House of Winter is without a Kell or a Prime Servitor. House of Devils has been ravaged by the SIVA Crisis, through Guardian intervention and their own tampering. House of Kings has always kept itself hidden, and remains hidden. Through what has been reported by Guardians on patrol, the Fallen have vanished, replaced my smaller groups, similar to Houses. These groups are mostly just small crime syndicates, nothing big enough to be considered a threat yet. 

Unlike the Fallen, the Cabal have been making major pushes. Several patrol areas have been completely overrun by their forces, which is unusual. The Cabal are always pushing for new ground, that’s not strange, but it’s still a cause for concern, especially with the messages that have been intercepted. So Shiro’s been reassigned to Mars and the Cabal. He can’t make runs between Earth, Luna, and Venus if there’s no Fallen threat. 

“There’s a bit of interference,” Aimi let out a spark of static that sounded like a sigh. “As per usual.” 

“Hm. Could maybe be down for repairs. That or some Guardian shot an Arc grenade and fried the system,” Shiro suggested.

She let out another agitated sigh. “Well I hope they figure it out down there because I can’t send the file until the channel clears. Ugh. You’d think after centuries of technological breakthroughs, we’d know what we’re doing.”

“Could it be a storm,” Shiro asked. “Maybe that’s temporarily blocking the channel.”

A pause from Aimi, then, “you know, you could be right. I’m detecting elevated levels of atmospheric activity back on Earth. We might as well make ourselves useful until it blows over.”

“Here. We’ll check back at the Buried City before we head back.” Shiro shifted out of his reclined position and reached for the controls. “I did spot more canisters of fuel when we flew over. The Cabal are moving a massive amount of supplies. It’s no secret they’re preparing for some—“ His hand froze just above the control column. Something was off.

“W-what’s happening?” Aimi twisted around in a half-circle. She felt it too.

Shiro opened his mouth to speak, but instantly clamped it shut when an unearthly sensation passed through his body. A power, his power, began to rise within him. It flowed on its own in a random manner. He tried to control it, but before he knew it, it was gone. Light filled the cockpit, flowing out of his body. Shiro screamed at the sight of this refracted shape, then he screamed at the pain that tore through him, replacing his Light.

“What’s happening!” Aimi shrieked again. She wavered unsteadily in midair before falling between Shiro’s knee and the cockpit wall.

Shiro was still fighting through the strange feeling in his body, the pain. He arched against the back of his seat and reached out for anything to brace against. His hand locked around the control column and it shifted. Shiro’s eyes flicked over to the column. Faster than he could think, the ship plunged. His eyes squeezed shut and he gritted from the pressure building in his chest. He brought his hands down on the control panels to steady himself, and opened his eyes. All he could see beyond the cockpit was the vast stretches of rusty red Martian dunes speckled with Cabal bases. The ship was in a nose-dive, a straight collision course with the ground. 

With a trembling hand, Shiro pulled back hard on the stick. It didn’t budge. Shiro grunted and readjusted his fingers. They didn’t feel the same anymore. There was a sensation, a slight pulse of Arc at his fingertips that he’d never noticed before, but without the Light, it was gone. He pulled again, harder, and the column shifted toward him. The ship began to angle, but he was already too low to the ground. He was going to crash, like it or not.

Shiro let go of the control column and reached to each side of his seat to strap himself in. His fingers fumbled around for the buckles, slipping on their metal surfaces. He risked a glance outside the cockpit. He could now make out clear wind formations in the sand, and see the jagged boulders approaching closer and closer. He snapped his eyes back down and grasped the buckles in each hand. He pulled the harness over himself then went to click the buckles together at the center of his chest. From the corner of his eye, he saw that it was too late. The nose of his ship collided with the ground and dove beneath the sand.

His ship lurched forward. The impact launched Shiro out of his seat. He had only a fraction of a second to bring his arms up to protect his face as he flew at the cockpit. His palm collided first, cracking the glass. The joint in his wrist twisted too far to the right, producing a small popping sound. Then his forehead smashed against the glass followed by a distinct crack in his neck. His back lit up in pain that felt like a wildfire which burned on for what seemed like ages as the ship tore through the land.

The ship came to a creaking stop, teetering back and forth on the uneven ground. Moving seemed like an impossible task. A task he wasn’t looking forward to. Moving meant finding out what parts of him had broken in the crash. His situation was bad enough, he didn’t want to have more added to the pile. He was going to have to move though. 

“Shiro!” Aimi pulled herself out from where she had been wedged behind the seat. “Shiro, are you alright!”

“I’m fine.” Shiro choked out. He was sprawled across the control panels, covered in shards from the shattered cockpit

She floated over to him, looking him up and down with her eye. “T-the Light... It’s gone...” She didn’t know what to say. This had all happened so sudden. 

“Could this be Vex interference? They don’t have long-ranged tech that could’ve reached us in orbit.” Shiro answered his own question. 

“No, n-no,” Aimi struggled to speak. “It’s something else, something much more severe...” she didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. Deep down, they both knew exactly what happened. 

The Traveler has been attacked, possibly even destroyed; although, that would have to be impossible. Regardless, their connection to the Light had been cut off. It’s gone. He’s powerless. They both are, along with everyone else. Every Guardian and every Ghost in the system is cut off. But where was the warning? Something like this doesn’t happen without a warning, so that means there was a surprise attack, which means everyone wasn’t in the City to fight the threat. Which means, now without the Light, the City is in great danger, but that’s not the only problem. There are probably hundreds of Guardians stranded on other planets in similar situations as he is. There are probably hundreds participating in the Crucible, or other unspecified activities. Which means, the City will fall. He needs to get back as soon as possible.

Shiro tested both of his arms for injury. First this right, then his left. Red-hot pain lit up his left shoulder and he grunted, sucking in a breath. He tried to ignore the pain as he felt around the wall of the ship, searching for the lever that would release the cockpit. His fingertips found it and he yanked the lever towards him. The cockpit swung open, sending down a barrage of more shards. He brushed the glass off and reached for the rim with his good arm. He grabbed ahold and dragged himself up and over. He fell less than gracefully into the sand, which was still warm from impact and the heat of the now exposed engine.

“We’re 232 kilometers from the nearest patrol zone,” Aimi informed. “This is Cabal territory. Deep Cabal territory.”

Just then, as if on command, bright lights flashed on, illuminating the dusty Martian landscape and revealing Shiro’s downed jumpship. The light blinded Shiro and he turned to crawl beneath the wing of his ship to escape it. He looked over his shoulder at where the lights had come from. Without them blaring in his face, he could make out a structure, a base. He had landed inside of a Cabal encampment, the worst possible place he could’ve landed. And to make matters worse, a party of Cabal soldiers were exiting the main base, heading straight for him with the steady confidence of soldiers who knew exactly what to expect. 

“Contact the Vanguard,” Shiro flattened himself against the sand and reached to unholster his Trespasser. 

“I...” She hesitated. “I can’t.”

“What? Why not?” 

“All comms are down. The comms are never down like this.” 

Aimi was right. The comms are never down. All communication to and from the Vanguard happens on a secure channel. While it can fail, it certainly never goes down. This was bad. This was very bad. And it confirmed his suspicion that the City was under attack. 

“We have to get out of here, Shiro. Without the Light, I can’t revive you.” She paused. “Your death will be permanent.” 

“We can’t leave the ship,” Shiro kept his eyes on the Cabal soldiers. “There’s enough ammunition and supplies to last me years in the wilds.” 

The Cabal soldiers continued their march. Their armor reflected green and white markings in the spotlight, the colors of the Sand Eaters Legion and the primary occupier of Mars. Twelve legionaries, two phalanxes and a centurion following close behind. Each solider carried heavy launchers. Not fun to get hit by, not fun to heal from, and now that he’s lost his best form of attack and defense, he can’t risk getting shot even once. He would have to be quick if he wanted to take out the troops. Start with the phalanxes, shoot their arms, draw out the rest of the troops from their cover, and get the centurion down as fast as possible—without getting shot. It could be done, but could he afford the risk?

“The ship’s wrecked beyond repair. It’s a miracle it didn’t explode. It probably will,” Aimi’s voice was pure desperation now. She needed to get them moving. “Please listen. These supplies aren’t worth your life. If we stay here, we die, but if we leave we might have a chance.” 

Shiro looked at him. He knew she was right: they had to leave. If they didn’t, their chance of survival was limited. They’d crashed down in the middle of a Cabal base. There will be reinforcements ready even if he managed to take out the first soldiers unharmed. He’s in no condition to singlehandedly take down a Firebase. He had to leave and now was his best chance. Since the soldiers don’t know if he survived the crash, he could have a good head start. But, the real question was whether he was physically able. His body hurt all over. His wrist was fractured, he was pretty sure his left arm was dislocated, and it felt like pins and needles down his spine. Booking it was going to be painful. 

“Shiro,” Aimi’s voice dropped to a whisper and she darted down close to Shiro’s shoulders. “We have to move!”

The Sand Eaters marched closer. Now they were a few strides away, close enough so he could hear their guttural sounds and close enough for him to get a good shot. He could get two or three of the legionaries down before the others reacted. The soldiers still hadn’t spotted him hiding beneath the wing. He could catch them off guard. He could. He could—No. There’s too many.

Shiro spun around in the sand and rolled onto his hands and knees. He kicked off the sand and dashed out from underneath the back of his jumpship. A frenzied roar sounded behind him. One of the soldiers had noticed. A second later, a shot from a Cabal launcher whizzed past him, dangerously close to his head. He pushed harder through the sand, ducking as more rounds were fired at him. 

He changed directions again, trying his best to move erratically to confuse the Cabal. He had landed in an open space in the middle of the base. Looming structures and military barracks surrounded him, blocking him in. It made him feel like a Dreg, driven from its nest and trapped out in the open. Cabal were huge, 800 pound, space rhinos, everything they built was huge, leaving no spaces for him to slip through where they couldn’t follow. 

“Empty ventilation duct, eight o’clock,” Aimi called out. 

Shiro’s boots dug into the sand as he pivoted for the duct. His eyes flickered fast over the area to find the vent and spotted the open, unfinished end sticking out from a wall about five meters above ground. It was big enough for him to fit inside, but too small for Cabal. He reached the wall and leaped into the air with his good arm extended to grab the vent. He brought his legs up to his chest and pumped them out again to double-jump, but nothing happened. He fell back to the ground, having to use the wall to catch his balance. What? He’s lost his jumping capabilities too. He’s a normal, powerless Exo now.

“We have to find another way,” Aimi snapped him out of his trance. 

A Cabal solider shot a round at him, missing. The blast hit the wall behind Shiro and blew it apart. He stumbled as he was battered with debris and shook himself off. He had to keep moving. The Cabal were still pursuing him which wasn’t usual protocol. It’s common for the Cabal to send in a land tank for a Guardian threat like him, but they haven’t, which shows that they know he’s Lightless. So they know about the attack on the City. But that’s not possible. The Sand Eaters have never made a move for Earth and sneak attacks are way out of their play book. 

Another group of soldiers exited the barracks in front of him, pointing their weapons at him. He skidded to a stop and turned to head the other way. Behind him, the first group roared, firing rounds at him. He lifted his sidearm and fired his own rounds into the group. The three-round bursts penetrated their armor, staggering the group. This gave him a moment to make another mad dash for cover before the second group reached him. 

There was a pile of canisters against one of the walls of the barracks. He hurdled over the first canister and jumped to climb up the pile. He climbed like his life depended on it, because it did. He swiftly made it to the top of the barracks. From this height he could see how far the base stretched in every direction. He could see the tight lines of armed Cabal troops marching in his direction. And he could just see over the edge of one of the base’s walls to the rocky Martian land beyond. 

Shiro stood and sprinted across the top of the barracks. He was looking ahead, using the roofs of buildings to form a path to the outer wall. It was a straight path with only four or five rows of barracks in his way. He neared the edge of the first and prepared to make the jump. He bent his knees and pushed off the very edge of the rooftop. More rounds fired at him in midair, grazing his armor and tearing through his cloak. One bullet hit, penetrating straight though his thigh. His limbs tensed and he nearly slipped off of the next roof when he grabbed it, but he was able to conjure up enough strength to pull himself up. 

He continued to run despite the burning pain shooting up his leg with every step. He jumped to the next rooftop, pulling himself up. Then the next. The Cabal followed him the whole way. They marched at the sides of each building and shot at him whenever they got the chance. When he reached the outer wall, he thought he would collapse. He had no idea how he was going to make the jump, it was further from the rest. Not impossible to make without the Light, but he’d need a running head start. So he backed up, and pushed himself one last time. He jumped at the edge and extended his arms outward. His fingertips touched the edge and he tightened his grip. His body swung down and hit the wall, almost breaking his grip, but his fingers held. Shiro grunted from the effort to pull himself up. He rocked and kicked his uninjured leg to grab the edge with his heel. He pulled himself up and rolled off the other side, dropping quite a way and landing hard in the sand. 

New pains sprung up throughout his back, but he forced himself to his feet. He had to get away from this base while he still could. The Cabal won’t let a Guardian slip through their grasp, especially not since there’s a chance they had something to do with the loss of his Light. Although, he still questions their involvement. A surprise attack on the City opened up new options for the Cabal. Out of all the races, they were the first to contemplate and study the relationship between Ghosts and Guardians. Now that he’s Lightless, it wouldn’t be too difficult for them to capture him, dead or alive, to further their study. But, knowing the Cabal, they’d probably kill him on sight. He had to keep moving.

“If we keep heading south we’ll run into the Charitum Montes. Beyond that is a small patrol zone. Maybe we’ll run into someone.”

“Doubtful.” He was starting to suffer from his injuries. Pure adrenaline had kept him going long enough to get away from the base, but now that it’s effects were wearing off he began to realize just how much pain he was really in. “Anyone with a ship probably left. Anyone stranded will be well hidden. It’s going to be days before we get there. If we get there.”

The large Cabal base, with its bright lights and blaring sirens was long behind him. He was in the clear for now. He slowed down his pace, falling into a limp. “We could head east instead. There’s some scattered Clovis Bray facilities in that area. They would have supplies and a hangar, hopefully with working ships.”

“Too risky,” Aimi argued. “Weird stuff happens to Exos in CB facilities, and we can’t afford anything.”

“Then we’re going to have to find another way off Mars, which involves invading a Cabal base and nabbing a Thresher.” 

“Oh... That’s risky too,” she paused. “There has to be another way.”

The sun was beginning to peek over the mountains in the distance. It would be daylight soon. Daylight meant more Cabal troops. The Cabal have interceptors, he doesn’t. They could catch up with him in moments. 

Shiro’s knees gave out. He fell to the dirt, only just able to catch himself with his forearms. His head hung low, pressing into the sand. He couldn’t keep up with this much longer. He was exhausted. 

Aimi floated over to his shoulder. A blue light fell upon his back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“W-why are you sorry,” Shiro grunted.

“So much has happened so quickly. I forgot all about you and your injuries,” she explained. “I may be able to heal you. I’ve lost so many functions without the Light that it won’t be as efficient, but I’ll see what I can do.” 

Shiro shifted himself into a better position. “How bad is it? Do I even want to know?” 

“Um... You have major frame damage from the crash. Mostly in the thoracic region. And there’s tearing down your spine, along with two cervical fractures,” she paused. “That’s a broken neck. You’ve been running around with a broken neck.” 

The aching pain seemed to get worse as she listed each of his injuries. As far as he had been aware, he had escaped the crash unscathed. It felt as if his body had almost forgotten what was broken and what wasn’t, and now he was being reminded. 

“You’ve also got a broken wrist and a dislocated shoulder. Those are easy fixes. A bullet wound. Nasty. And there’s some minor damage to your internal systems, but I’m picking up some self-healing. I’ll still help speed up the process though.” 

“Thanks.” He was already feeling exponentially better. 

“It’s a miracle we didn’t die on impact. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

Shiro nodded, agreeing with his Ghost. But in the following days, he would soon learn that “miracle” wasn’t the right word to describe it.


	2. Chapter 2

He wasn’t sure how much time has gone by. At least a few days, maybe a week. Probably a week. 

He had stopped counting days. Days had stopped mattering. He would move whenever he was strong enough, sleep wherever he was safe enough, which was never. He and his Ghost were all by themselves. All comms were down, and if they wanted to hear another voice again they’d have to get to a console. There were a lot of old buildings and radio towers on Mars, but each was at least a day or two away by vehicle. So, it didn’t take them long to realize that along with Light-powered healing, Sparrows couldn’t be transmatted, which meant he had to travel on foot, which meant that this was going to take awhile. It also meant that he was at a serious risk for a Cabal attack. 

The Sand Eaters have been following him since the base. They were always close behind, but never close enough to reach him. He knew that had to be for a reason. They had the technology to catch up with him faster than he could get away. But whenever he collapses, unable to go any further, the soldiers don’t take the opportunity. Were they waiting for him to lead them to more Lightless Guardians? Or were they just keeping him in their sights? 

Probably a bit of both. 

He had to keep moving.

The rain was coming down hard. The usual dry Martian dust had the consistency of mud. Slathered over his boots, up his legs, it slowed his movements. Every step felt like he was dragging the desert with him.

“Look over there,” Aimi appeared in front of him, staring off the way they’d came. 

Shiro looked over his shoulder and into the wind at his back. Rain droplets battered his face and he reached to pull his hood down. He blinked to clear his eyes and focused them on the distance. There were five shapes exiting orbit in a loose formation. He watched them as they lowered and began to circle the area. Threshers. Red and gray Cabal Threshers. 

Shiro lowered himself down to the ground. From his days out in the environment, his armor was stained with Martian sand. He would look just like another rock from the air. And despite the discomfort, the mud provided adequate camouflage that even a Nightstalker could appreciate. So in that aspect, he didn’t mind it. 

He didn’t move a muscle as the ships descended. He had four clips left and he didn’t want to have to use them on some random Cabal patrol that just happened to spot him. The Threshers didn’t seem to notice him though. They flew right over him, but were slowing down. The Threshers began to descend and spiral down into a narrow channel surrounded by jagged boulders. 

“They’re reinforcements,” Shiro snapped his head back around and broke into a sprint. “The legion stopped in that channel for the night. They’re reinforcements!” 

“From a different legion?” Aimi asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The Threshers came from orbit, not the base,” she said. “So a different legion?” 

“I don’t know,” Shiro spoke between breaths. “But we’ve got trouble coming.” 

He risked a glance over his shoulder at the rocks. No movement so far, but he knew there would be. The Cabal were waiting it out the whole time! They chased every bit of strength he had left and are going to dive in to deliver a killing blow to a dying man. How vain. How futile. They know they can do it to, too. The Cabal are too prideful. Even though they’ve taken everything from him, they won’t waste a chance to show their might one last time. 

His best chance was to get to cover. Now. He was almost through the dunes. On the other side, there were more jagged rocks and high cliffs where a river had once cut through the land. He could use the different elevation to get more distance between him and the Sand Eaters. It wouldn’t stop the Sand Eaters, but it would at least encourage them not to follow. Moving troops would be difficult through uneven land and impossible for Intercepters. 

“We’ve got Cabal. Coming up fast,” Aimi announced. 

Shiro didn’t look. He kept running forward. Even when he could hear the roar of Intercepters behind him, he kept moving. The canyon was just beyond him now. He could make it. The ground had already changed from the dune sands to pebbly canyon floor. Each step echoed across the canyon walls. 

“Shiro, they’re here!” Aimi screamed in terror. 

He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, catching the sight of a battalion’s worth of Cabal funneling into the canyon. He turned back around, searching the canyon walls for a quick getaway. Holes or large cracks would be ideal, but there were none, only steep rock walls that stretched halfway to the cliff top. Without thinking, he ran at one of the piles and climbed. His gloved fingers slipped on the slick surfaces, but by some miracle, he was able to pull himself up and out of reach of the Cabal. He laid flat at the top, hidden from sight, but the Cabal didn’t need to see him to know he was up there. 

They approached the high rocks and surrounded it on all sides. It wasn’t long until an uncountable amount of soldiers filled the canyon. He risked a look over his rock ledge. The surrounding Cabal were mostly Sand Eaters, but there was other Cabal mixed in. These Cabal soldiers wore silver armor adorned with crimson scales. At first glance, he would’ve mistaken them for Skyburners, but their armor lacked the blue markings. This was a whole different legion.

He had prepared to pull himself back behind the cover of the ledge, but he didn’t need to. None of the soldiers fired at him. They were all waiting for something. He soon saw what it was. In the back of the crowd, a hulking shape was moving to the front. The lines of Cabal parted as it passed. This soldier was unlike anything he’d ever seen in the Cabal ranks. The soldier was heavily built and wielded two cleavers, both of which were nearly as big as Shiro was. 

Once it reached the front, the soldier brandished It’s cleaver at Shiro. Two slender shapes broke through the lines of Cabal. They too were like nothing he’d ever seen before. They were scaled like reptiles, but four-legged like one of the wolves on Felwinter Peak. They stopped at the hulking Cabal’s sides and stared at him, saliva dripping from their jaws. The solider waited a moment before snarling out an order, and the beasts were off. 

The beasts jumped onto the bottom of the pile and began to scrabble for a hold on the loose rocks. Shiro rolled onto his heels and unholstered his sidearm. He pointed it at the first beast and fired. It yelped and lost it’s grip, rolling back to the bottom, but got back onto its feet. The other beast was nearing the top. Shiro fired, missing once, then twice. The beast’s claws gripped the top of the ledge, but just as it was about to pull itself up, Shiro’s shot his Its mark and the beast fell but didn’t get up. He aimed to fire at the other. Empty. He tore the clip from his sidearm and flicked it at the first beast. The clip bounced off the beast’s nose and it yelped, running back to the gladiator of a Cabal. 

The soldier stared at the cowering beast with an expression he couldn’t read through their helmet. Maybe amusement? The soldier tilted Its head up to face him. 

“Is this really the strength you Guardian tribes can muster,” A bellowing roar rumbled in the Cabal’s throat, much like a laugh. “I’ve heard horror stories of what just one of you can do. But this?” She tilted back her head to roar again. “I was expecting a less... boring kill.” 

“How is she speaking perfect English?” Aimi whispered. She sounded shocked, just as shocked as he was. 

The cleaver-wielding Cabal heard Aimi. Another laugh rumbled in her throat. “We know everything about your kind! We’ve been monitoring your Earth longer than you think!” 

“Who’s ‘we?’” Shiro snapped. 

“The Red Legion, and our leader, Dominus Ghaul! Emperor of the Cabal” The gladiator’s roar sounded more like a battlecry and less like an answer. “And now, the conqueror of the Sol System!” 

The surrounding Cabal roared at their emperor’s name. Shiro felt his heart sink. The situation was worse than he could’ve imagined. If the Cabal Emperor is in their system, then it’s going to be a total war. Nothing will be left of the City or the system when they’re done with it. That’s what Cabal do. They conquer and destroy. 

“The Guardians know your kind too,” he rose his voice above the soldiers. “We know you destroy planets you conquer. If you’re just going to destroy the system, then why go through the trouble of killing us,” Shiro asked. It was strange to be talking to an enemy, especially one that could understand him. “What does all of this prove?”

“That your kind is inferior and undeserving of the Light!” The gladiator raised a cleaver, barking an order out in her native language. 

A row of Red Legion soldiers stepped out of the crowd of Sand Eaters. They raised their weapons and pointed them straight at him, ready to fire. Shiro flattened himself against the rocks again. Is this really how he dies? Trapped on the top of some rock ledge on Mars? He rolled over onto his back, looking up at the sky. He expected rain to fall on his face, but the sky had cleared, revealing another ship in Mars’ atmosphere. He watched it, squinting to get a better look at it. The ship wasn’t Cabal, or any other race’s. The front was a four-pointed star, like a grappling hook. Wires extended from the back. The ship seemed to be dragging a a large cauldron-like object behind it.

All of a sudden, the orders from the gladiator stopped and was replaced by rushing air and panicked shouts. Shiro rolled over and dragged himself to the edge to see the Cabal lines broken up and the focus brought off of him. The canyon had visibly darkened. Taken rifts were tearing at the air, summoning forth twisted monstrosities. He backed up again, terror rising in his chest. He pressed against the rocks, curled over himself with his forehead pressing into his wrists and his fists digging into the rocks. Not the Taken. Not now. 

The canyon was quickly reduced to silence as the battalion of Cabal were cut down by Taken monsters. He still didn’t move. Even when he could no longer hear the cries of the corrupted creature, he still didn’t move. He let the silence fall upon him. From the silence came a voice. 

“Hey, brother, need a lift?” 

Another person. Another man. Shiro lifted his head to the voice. He thought he may be hearing things, but there he was: A man looking over the canyon’s edge, staring down at him with piercing blue eyes. Shiro stared back at him, analyzing the man. He was Asian, with short dark hair held up in a green headband, and facial hair that stopped at his jawline. 

“You hear me, brother? I asked if you need a lift!” The man repeated.

Shiro glanced at the canyon floor below him. Hundreds of Cabal laid slaughtered, some covered in Taken goo. He looked at the lifeless bodies for a moment. That could’ve been him. Two seconds later, and that could’ve been him. But, where the hell did those Taken come from? 

Shiro snapped his head back up to look at the man. “Y-yes.” 

“Get up here then,” the man waved an arm. He took a step away from the ledge then leaned back. “Need help?” 

Shiro was trying and failing to get a grip on the rain-slickened canyon wall. “Just give me a sec.” 

He bent his knees and pushed off the rocks once more. He stretched his palms against the canyon wall and clawed for a hold. His fingers snagged on a chip and he pulled himself further up the wall. In a few more handholds, he was to the top. He took a moment to catch himself before he got to his feet. 

Now, he was close enough to get a better look at the man. He wore dark turquoise robes, much like a Warlock’s. The robes were held together by a belt and slightly parted to reveal a green undershirt and a jade snake pendant. 

“You couldn’t have come at a better time,” Shiro said. “I seem to be attracting everyone’s attention today.” 

The man chuckled. “Eh. What can you do?” He turned and started heading to the ship dragging the cauldron. It was hovering just above the ground, blowing sand all around it. “Ship’s this way,” he looked over his shoulder at him. “Suppose I should know your name first?”

“Shiro,” he followed the man. “Yours?”

The man didn’t seem to have heard him. He stared off into the distance then turned. “Let’s get to the ship.”

Shiro followed the man. The man’s hesitance to give his name was a red flag, but he was the first person Shiro had been in days. He overlooked the red flag, forgetting about it entirely. “I need to get to Earth,” he said quickly. 

“I do too,” the man said. “I’ll take you there.”

“You’re taking me to Earth,” Shiro whispered to himself, too quietly for the man to hear him. Relief flowed throughout his body. Weeks of running and hiding were at end. Weeks of not knowing what had happened were at end. He was going to go back to the Tower. He’s never been so excited to be going back to the Tower. “I’m going back to Earth...”

Shiro was beginning to grow weary as he walked. His vision was growing blurry. The colors of the dusty Martian sand began to merge into each other like paint, and he found that it was getting harder and harder to walk straight. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but he found that his vision grew darker and darker with each blink until he couldn’t see anymore. He let out a noise that sounded like a moan as his head began to pulse with pain. He stumbled in the sand and began to fall. He didn’t feel himself hit the ground. 

Everything went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Shiro knew time was passing, but he couldn’t move. His body felt like it was suspended in time. The world was moving around him, he could sense it, but at the same time, he was helplessly motionless. On any other occasion, this sensation would send him into a panic. He always had to be moving, to be doing stuff. Stillness without purpose wasn’t an option for him. But his body was so battered and bruised, so sore from strain and exertion, that the stillness was soothing.

The stillness surrounded him, returning life-giving energy to his body. This energy rejuvenated him, brought him back from the very edge of what he would consider death. He had been so close to it, he knew that. There was only so much a body could take until it bent and broke. But he hadn’t broke. He had endured. He had survived.

Now Shiro was making a quick recovery. He began to come back into touch with reality and regain each of his senses. He started to hear the vacuum of silence around him, only filled with the buzzing of a distant generator and the slight creak of the walls around him. He began to regain feeling in his body, and felt the chill of the air clawing at his face and neck. He started to shiver, regaining motor function. 

As his senses returned, he quickly became hyper-aware of a presence. Someone was watching him. Shiro stiffened, listening for any tap on the floor or shift of clothing. The sound he was searching for came in the form of a breath that warmed the air in front of him. 

Shiro’s eyes shot open. Through the dark he could make out the outline of a humanoid figure leaning over him. He tried to jerk away from the silhouette, but something was wrapped around him, restricting his movements. The figure reached for him. Shiro pulled away, slamming his head hard against the wall to his left. He gritted against the sharp pain, still struggling to break free. He kicked out at his attacker. His boot pressed against the inside of some material that pulled at his other leg, prematurely stopping his kick before it connected. Shiro snapped his arm down to grab at his knife. His fingers closed on his hip. Gone. His weapons had been confiscated. Of course they had. 

“Hey,” his attacker yelled as he struggled to free himself. 

A forearm came down heavy on his shoulders leaving him winded, and leaving his attacker with enough time to gain the upper hand. Shiro twisted off of his back and swung an elbow at the man. Through the material, it struck him right in jaw. The man grunted, tightening his vice grip on Shiro. 

“Hey, hey now! Try to relax why don’t ya?” The man grunted in an attempt to calm him. It didn’t work. Shiro continued to strain against the man’s grip, determined to break free, but his arms were shaking from the pressure. If he had any strength remaining, he would’ve continued to fight, but his body simply gave out. He collapsed face-first into the fabric, a firm hand on the back of both his shoulders. 

“Didn’t mean to surprise you,” the man apologized. He removed his hands from Shiro and reached to flick on a light. “Was just checkin’ on you for the night. That’s all.” 

With the light on, Shiro could see that he wasn’t restrained at all. He was laying inside a blue and gold sleeping bag on the lower frame of an old metal bunk. His “attacker” was the Asian man from before. The man was standing a few steps back from the bunk, rubbing his bearded chin where he had struck him. Shiro glanced at the rest of the room, which wasn’t a full-on room, more of a hut really. It looked to be a tight living space, occupied by the bunk bed he laid in, a desk and chair, a rack of weapons, chests, and several Fallen helmets hanging on the wall. 

Shiro looked back at the man. “Why...” He cut himself off. He was trying to remember how he got here, but there was a distinct gap in his memory. He remembered meeting him but after that everything was blank. 

The man shrugged. “Well, you’ve been out for quite awhile. I thought it would be nice to make sure you’re not dead,” he said with a half laugh. “You dropped just as I was taking you to the Derelict.” 

“The Derelict,” Shiro repeated. “What’s that? Your ship?”

He nodded. “You’re gettin’ it.” He turned to the desk behind him to grab the chair and spun it around to face Shiro. He fell down in it with a heavy thud and leaned back against the desk so the chair balanced on two legs. 

Shiro was still trying to recollect his thoughts as well as analyze the situation he was in. This was a lot to process all at once. 

“You don’t remember blacking out, do you?” The man asked. He shrugged, his voice surprisingly sympathetic. “Don’t blame ya. I don’t know what was going on before I got there, but sheesh, that looked rough.” 

“You took my weapons,” Shiro said. 

The man paused for a moment, then he scoffed and gestured at where Shiro had hit his jaw. “I don’t regret that decision now.”

“Where did you put my weapons,” Shiro squirmed partially out of the sleeping bag so he could sit up. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got them stored away.”

“Where did you put them—“

“Hey, chill, brother!” He raised his hands non-threateningly. “You’ll get them back. It’s not like I’m gonna keep them forever.”

Shiro propped himself up with his arms. As he shifted, an avalanche of dried mud detached from his armor and onto the bed frame. He looked down at himself. His armor was caked in mud, leaving him the same dusted hue as the Martian planet. 

The man was looking down at him too. After a moment, his eyes flicked up to meet Shiro’s. “Here. I’ll give you some time to collect yourself,” he stood and began down the hall and toward the door. “I’ll be out here if you need me.” 

Shiro’s eyes remained on the door where Drifter had disappeared behind. 

“You’ve been out for 14 hours.” Aimi spoke the moment the man’s footsteps faded down the hall, answering a question that hadn’t been asked yet. 

Shiro didn’t answer. That number didn’t sound right. Or at the very least, he didn’t want to believe it was right.

“You blacked out pretty hard,” she commented. “I thought you were dead.” 

“I probably would’ve been.” Shiro closed his eyes for a moment. The images of the Cabal surrounding him and that gladiator roaring out the order for his execution were still vivid in his mind. He would’ve died if those Taken hadn’t shown up, and he probably would’ve died later on if that man hadn’t shown up. 

“This is all so... scary,” Aimi struggled for a word to describe it. “I’ve never had to worry about you before.”

Shiro glanced at her with a breath. He quickly changed the conversation. “Can you reach the Tower at all?”

“No,” Aimi let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve tried a dozen times. All of the Vanguard channels are still down. I even tried to contact Cayde, but I couldn’t reach Sundance.” 

“This isn’t good,” Shiro shifted in the sleeping bag. He tested each of his limbs for injury and found that his previous wounds, although aching, were healing. 

“Understatement of the year,” Aimi commented with a sigh. “It’s been nearly two weeks. You’d think the Tower would have this solved by now.”

“We’ve never had to deal with anything like this before. The Vanguard probably doesn’t know where to start,” he said. “Without the Light, it’s going to take a lot more than throwing six Guardians at the heart of the threat.” 

Aimi went silent.

“We’re going to need everyone if we want a shot, but even then, we’re outnumbered,” he stopped to breathe. “That’s assuming if everyone’s still alive. If there was a surprise attack and the Traveler was destroyed, then there’s no chance we’d win. Guardians are highly trained soldiers, but immortality is our greatest weapon... We’d be wiped out.”

“That can’t be possible,” Aimi’s whisper was barely audible. “The Traveler can’t be destroyed.”

“I don’t want to believe it can, but at this point, everything’s a possibility. Neither of us will know until we get back to Earth and assess the damage for ourselves. We could come across others, or be walking straight into death itself.” 

“I,” Aimi hesitated. “I don’t want to lose you...”

Shiro sighed. He didn’t like this kind of talk about death. He’s died before, many times, but his deaths have never been permanent. He was always brought back. Now it’s different. Without the Light, his next death will be a final death, and there’s nothing he can do about it. “You won’t. I’ll be careful. You know I always am.”

“I know,” Aimi paused. She hovered in the air for a moment, considering something. Then she spoke, “we’ve got to find a way off this vessel. I don’t trust him.” The blue light of her eye shined at the door the man had disappeared behind. 

This caution wasn’t unusual for Aimi. She doesn’t trust anyone until they prove themselves. In the past, she’s warned him about Cayde multiple times, and oh, how wrong she was. Aimi warns him about everything and everyone and, although it can get annoying and excessive, it serves as a great reminder: You can’t trust someone just because they’re being friendly. Just because that man brought him on his ship and offered to take him back to Earth, doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy. He still has to prove it. 

“I don’t either,” he whispered. “But we can’t just leave. He’s the quickest way back to the City.” 

“That’s true,” she mumbled.

“And he’s a second pair of eyes incase there’s trouble,” Shiro added. 

“I guess so...”

“And,” he paused, wavering back and forth on whether he should say his last point. “He did save my life,” he finally said.

“Hey! I saved your life,” Aimi sparked with indignation. 

“Ok, ok. You did. You kept me alive,” he corrected himself. “But I was dying out there. Any longer in those conditions and I might have not woke up.” 

Aimi’s shell drooped. “Ok,” she spoke quietly. “That gives him a few trustworthiness points, but only a few.”

“I think, for now at least, we need to trust him,” Shiro said. “I know we usually would be more cautious, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“And we might end up needing him,” Aimi finished for him. 

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Aimi said. “I’ll keep an open mind and assume he’s just a random man that came to help us out of the kindness of his heart. There’s absolutely no way he could be dangerous or using us for his own benefit!” 

Shiro smirked at her. “That’s the spirit.”

She glanced back at the door. “We should go find him though.” 

“Agreed,” Shiro nodded.

Shiro slid his arm up and out of the sleeping bag. He grabbed the end of the zipper, pulling it down so he could get out. He took a second to shake each of his legs to get the dried flakes off and did the same with each of his arms until the dust had been transferred to the space around him. The room was a mess, but it was already kind of a mess without his help. The man probably didn’t clean a lot.

Shiro stepped outside of the hut, stepping over the cluttered junk that lined the floor. Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the high ceilings, and the thick ice creeping up the walls. If he couldn’t see the metal walls through the ice, he would have thought for sure he was in some cavern. He’s never seen ice like this in a ship. He started to wonder if a pipe was broken and a gap in the hull had froze the leak, but there was something strange about this ice. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it spread a weird feeling through every molecule in his body. Shiro half ran to the other end of the hall to get away from the ice as fast as possible, hunching his shoulders against the chill as he did. 

The cavern-like room led into a smaller walkway that ran perpendicular to hall. Shiro stepped inside and was immediately greeted by the heat of steam in the pipes and electrical equipment that surrounded the raised walkway. 

“This thing’s falling apart,” Aimi commented, her voice only just audible above the noise of the pipes. She floated close to one of the them. A gust of steam flew from one of the bolts, pushing her across the narrow hall. “Gah!” She hit the opposite wall, shaking herself off. “Yep, so falling apart. Maybe we can get this guy to pay us to fix it. If he has glimmer.” 

“Maybe,” Shiro took another uneasy glance at the pipes. This whole ship was giving him an uneasy feeling that he couldn’t explain. It was just generally unsettling, and the fact that the ship was falling apart didn’t help the feeling. Maybe Aimi was right, maybe they had to get off this ship as soon as possible. 

The raised walkway led into a room near the front of the ship. The room was large with ceilings almost as high as in the cavern. It felt warm, comforting. Instead of ice, the walls were hung with various tarps, bright red banners reminiscent of the House of Devils. His eyes panned across the room, illuminated in a soft orange light from lanterns and light fixtures attached to the walls by thin hooks. His eyes were drawn to the center of the center of the room. Three large, chocolate brown sofas surrounded a stainless steel coffee table. 

Shiro took another step into the room and quickly saw that he wasn’t alone. The man came out from behind a refrigerated storage unit with a full pitcher in one hand and a glass in the other. He looked up at Shiro, smiled, and back-stepped back into the unit, returning with two glasses.

“Your internal clock’s all messed up, brother,” the man stifled a yawn as he walked to the sofas and settled into one. “Or mine is. Shucks.” 

Shiro remained where he stood halfway between the walkway and the sofas. He watched the man in silence as he placed the two glasses on the table and lifted the pitcher to pour dark liquid into one of them. He filled it to the top, spilling beads of liquid as he pulled the pitcher from the rim. His eyes flicked up to meet Shiro’s, noticing his hesitance. 

“Here. Sit down,” the man gestured at the couch across from him.

Shiro took the invitation. He padded across the metal grates in the floor to the sofa across from the man. The sofa was old, possibly pre-dating the Collapse. The leather was covered in cream colored tears like fissures on Luna. He sat down, sinking deep into the worn cushions. 

“You drink?” The man asked, lifting his glass. The dark fluid sloshed inside, sticking to the sides in thick streaks. 

Shiro didn’t answer. 

He shrugged and poured a second glass anyway, placing it down on the table between them. Then he settled back in the cushions, taking a sip of his drink. 

“What was a Guardian like you doing on Mars anyway?” The man asked. “All alone. No team. No man watchin’ your back.” 

“It’s easier that way,” Shiro answered. His eyes flicked down to look at the drink. He didn’t move to take it.

He laughed a bit. It wasn’t a judging or mocking laugh, but one that almost said “I can relate.” “So,” he set his glass on the table with a hollow chink. He began to refill it. “That’s the ‘why.’ Care to tell me the ‘what?’”

Shiro hesitated. Inside, his mind went back and forth on what to tell and if he should tell. This man is a complete stranger. He’s not to be trusted with Vanguard-class intelligence. But... He did risk bringing him onto his ship. He could’ve just left him on that ledge. “Scout work,” Shiro decided on. “I’m a scout for the Last Safe City on Earth.”

“Oh, the Last Safe City, you say?” The man asked, interest finding it’s way into each word. “So it’s not some myth.”

“Myth?”

The man nodded, “Lots’a rumors go ‘round that the Iron Lords succeeded, and all of humanity was brought to live safely beneath the Traveler. Always kinda thought it was fake. Never believed any of it.”

“Well, it’s true,” Shiro said. “That all happened a long time ago.” He watched the man as he took another sip. He was starting to form some suspicions about him, one being that this man is a Guardian. That was nearly a given, but his exact identity would be harder. Shiro didn’t recognize him at all. 

“Oh, then I’ve got a little catch up to do,” Drifter said. “What’s been goin’ on?” 

“A lot, actually. Hive gods threatening our moon and a technological plague set loose in the Cosmodrome.” 

“Ah huh,” Drifter nodded slowly. His glazed expression was a sign he wasn’t following. 

“You haven’t been on Earth since the Dark Ages?” Shiro asked. It was more of a statement than a question. 

“Yeah, well—kinda.” The man hesitated. He was being awfully careful with his words. 

“Who are you,” Shiro asked, his eyes narrowing.

The man laughed. “That’s a hard question to answer.”

“You could start with your name.” 

There was a long pause for a moment. Shiro could see him thinking long and hard about his answer. Considering his options.

“Ming. Wu Ming,” he finally said. 

Yep. Not familiar. He’s a complete stranger. 

Shiro thought of what to ask Ming. “When did you leave Earth? I don’t recognize you.”

“Oh, left just about the time the walls were comin’ up. Thought I’d take a little trip around the system.” He laughed. “Spoil myself a little.” 

“Where did you go?”

“Nowhere specific.”

“Why would you leave?”

Ming gave him a look. “You ask a lot of questions, brother.” He answered anyway. “I just wanted to get away from all the Light. Find myself some shade,” another laugh. “The Warlords, the Iron Lords. It was all getting tiresome, you know?”

Shiro nodded, although he really didn’t “know.” He hadn’t been reborn til the end of the Dark Ages. He had never seen a Warlord or experienced the struggle. The whole conflict seemed like ancient history now. It was strange to be talking with someone who had lived through it, and seemed to still be living through it. 

“Maybe I should’a waited it out a little longer, huh,” Ming said. “If the City had all its ducks in order.”

“Yeah... Maybe you should’ve,” Shiro began to think about the last few weeks. Losing the Light, crashing. His story was probably similar to a whole lot of other Guardians in the system, and probably worse for those in the City. 

“Well, better later than not at all. I’ve been meaning to get back to civilization,” Ming swirled his drink in his hand. “What about you? Yeah?”

Shiro blinked. “Y-yeah. I have to get back to it. I...” His hands fidgeted in his lap. “I haven’t been in contact for days. This kind of interruption is more than a technological failure. The entire City could be gone for all I know.”

Shiro’s eyes caught on the glass of dark fluid sitting between the two of them. He glanced down at himself, his fidgeting, then at the glass again. All of the stress that has been building up the last few days was unbearable. It felt like it was going to split out of his chest. He watched the drink in an attempt to take his mind off the thoughts in his mind, but they overcame him. He needed something to lessen the stress. Shiro lunged forward and snatched the drink off the table. He tipped it back and took one long swig. 

Ming watched him for a moment while he drank, then took another smaller sip of his. “I wouldn’t stress about it.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Your life’s purpose isn’t down there,” Shiro placed his now empty glass on the table. Ming reached to refill it. 

“True,” he handed the refilled glass back to Shiro. “But non-stop worrying won’t make the journey any easier.” 

Shiro glanced at Ming. He looked back at him, “Earth’s where we’re goin’ next. We’ll get back, reunite with your buddies, and figure this whole thing out. Trust.” 

The serious look on Ming’s face gave Shiro reassurance and reminded him that this was an issue Ming was dealing with too. He lost the Light, just as he had. Ming was probably just as frightened, just as unsure as he was about the future. Suddenly, Shiro’s mistrust felt misdirected. Ming could be trusted. He’s a Guardian, just like him. Even though he hasn’t been on Earth since the Dark Ages, that doesn’t change who he is. Something had to have taken him out of seclusion and made him seek the company of others. 

Ming laughed to ease the tension. “Sorry to say, but it’s gonna be a little bit slower than light speed. I’m haulin’ some precious cargo.”

Shiro frowned. “You can’t leave it somewhere? If you dropped it off we could always come back and grab it after Earth.” They could get back to the City in minutes if they warp, but without it, the trip could take days. 

“Nope. Sorry. Can’t afford to have it get dislodged. It’s too important.”

It’s trash, Shiro thought to himself. It’s a bag of junk. What could be so special about it?

“Hey, brother, don’t look so down. We’ll get there,” Ming said. “I promise.”

The room around Shiro was starting to get blurry. He blinked to try and clear his vision but it just made it worse. “I have to get back...” 

“It’ll probably be a few days. That’s all ya gotta wait,” he continued. “Hey, use it as an opportunity to recover.” Ming stopped and looked at Shiro who looked like he was about to tip over. “Uh, you feelin’ okay?”

“I don’t...” Shiro reached a hand up to support his head. He was starting to feel his mind buzzing along with tightness in his chest. 

Ming made a move to stand and quickly crossed the room, his boots clanging against the metal grates. “Shit. Shouldn’t have given you that.” He walked over to the cabinets beside the storage unit. He swung open the door and began digging through it. 

Shiro was leaning over the edge of the couch. His palms were pressed against his forehead and his elbows against his knees. He was feeling this overwhelming weightlessness in his body. That drink, the only sustenance in his system for over a week, had been absorbed faster than it normally would. He was drunk. Very drunk. Dangerously drunk.

“Here,” Ming’s voice sounded from in front of him. “Some water to wash that down with.” 

Shiro lifted his head, blinking to clear his view. He saw the blurry shape of Ming with a small object in his hand. He tossed it over to him. Shiro’s hands instinctively raised to catch it, but his timing was off, and it landed on the couch beside him. He grabbed the canteen by the leather strap and felt for the cap to open it.

“What was in that...” Shiro blinked as he fiddled with the cap of the canteen.

Ming shrugged. “A number of rare delicacies.” He looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think it was that strong. Sorry.”

“No,” Shiro shook his head vigorously, causing the whole room to spin and go blurry. “I actually think you need to open a bar back at the Tower. Hah. Nothing in the City can get an Exo drunk.” 

Ming laughed, sitting back in his seat. “I’ll have to consider it then.” 

Shiro gulped down the water nearly as fast as the drink Ming had given him, and gulped down a separate glass of water that he had provided him with. It didn’t help with the lightness in his head, but the water would help in the morning, and help him recover from the massive hangover that would surely ensue. 

Ming stepped up to the sofa Shiro sat on and leaned towards him. “Ok, I think it’s about time you get some rest. Sleep this off.”

“I agree.” Shiro tried to stand on his own. Just standing made the room spin around him.

He took a step forward and immediately tripped over the coffee table. Ming grabbed him from behind before he fell to the floor and helped him regain his balance. Shiro continued back to the walkway, guided by Ming who kept close to his side Incase he lost his balance again, which he did. Shiro blinked, regaining it quickly. He looked down the walkway with the pipes. It seemed like a giant tunnel now. All of the pipes seemed to merge together. Shiro blinked again and continued forward. 

It wasn’t long until they were back in the cavernous room. Ming had a firm hold beneath his left arm now, and was supporting the bulk of his weight. It had been a good call by Ming. Shiro needed to sleep all of this off. In the morning things would be much better. 

They entered the cluttered hut from before. The one Shiro had woke up in. “Here. Take my bed for the night,” Ming said.

“This is yours?” Shiro asked. It was the same blue and gold sleeping bag. “No, no,” he tried to pull away. “It’s yours. I’ll sleep somewhere else.” 

“I really don’t mind,” he said. “This is the only one I got set up, and I think you may need it a little more than I do.” 

Shiro glanced at him, blinking to clear his vision. “You’re such a nice person,” he murmured, not even aware of what he was saying.

Ming snorted, obviously caught off guard by his drunken compliment. He tried and failed to hide a smile. “Get some rest.”


	4. Chapter 4

Shiro began to stir, regaining his senses as he did when he first woke up on the Derelict. He didn’t focus on moving or getting up. Instead, he made smaller movements in his shoulders, back, and neck. He thoroughly stretched out his sore muscles and joints. Sparks of pain lit up in his back and he grunted through it. His wounds had healed, but without the Light, they were still present and served as a constant reminder of the crash that nearly killed him. He stretched one last time before he forced himself to wake up. 

When he opened his eyes it wasn’t Ming staring down at him, it was Aimi. He squinted to focus on her. “Oh. So you’re alive.”

“Whaaat?” Shiro winced at his own voice. Yeah. Drinking after days with nothing in his system wasn’t the brightest idea. But there was no changing last night. Everything would wear off with time.

“Good morning.” She was hovering in midair, motionless, as if held up by a string. Her voice was had little emotion, almost as if she was holding something back.

“You sound... mad,” Shiro commented. He moved to sit up. His motions were sluggish.

“Mad isn’t the right word for it,” she said. “I really don’t like seeing you like this.”

Shiro sat up so he could look straight at her. He leaned his back against the wall of the hut and slouched. “I don’t either.” 

“Then why’d you drink last night?”

“I’m not allowed to drink,” he asked defensively.

“Well, no, you can, but Wu Ming is a stranger. We don’t know him,” her voice was serious. “You left yourself vulnerable last night. You’re smarter than that, Shiro.”

Another conversation he didn’t want to be having. “He wasn’t going to do anything,” he stretched. 

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, I would’ve been able to fight him off. I don’t need the Light to kick his ass.”

“Or sobriety, apparently,” Aimi commented. 

“Ok, fine. I’m an idiot,” he said plainly. “The decision I made last night was stupid and could’ve had serious repercussions. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Well,” she glanced away a second. “I’m glad you know that it was stupid...” She paused, bobbing up and down through the air in contemplation. “But you’re really not an idiot.”

Shiro would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so out of it. Aimi, for all her caution and distrust, is always kind and conscious of others, especially him.

“There’s probably a lot on your mind right now. There’s a lot on mine too,” she said. 

Aimi wasn’t wrong. All of the thoughts about the Tower and what had happened there were still swirling in his mind. It all seemed unreal. He had always had his Light. The only Guardians who lose their Light are searching in dangerous places they shouldn’t be, like Darkness Zones. When a Guardian loses the Light to the Darkness, it’s gone for good. He didn’t know the nature of this separation from the Light, but it still had to be colossal if it could reach him on Mars. He could be Lightless forever...

“Can you reach Cayde at all?” Shiro asked.

“No. It’s still dark,” she sighed. “I’m not sure why. It could be because he’s too far away or he’s... he could be... he could be dead.” 

Shiro closed his eyes again. He’s always been able for each Cayde because Cayde always answers. Mostly because Cayde loves the sound of his own voice too much, but that’s not the only reason. They’ve known each other forever. They’ve been through thick and thin, back when it wasn’t only them. They used to have a whole team in the early days of the City, when none of them were stuck up in the Tower. 

The old team was a thing of the past now. Everyone was either dead or lost. There’s not much reason to run a two man team, so Shiro and Cayde split up. Although, they always kept a line open to keep in touch, and in the rare instances when Shiro found himself in the Tower, he would stop by to visit Cayde in person. There was always communication between them, even when they weren’t face to face. This silence wasn’t normal. It felt off. 

Shiro began to get a horrible, gut-wrenching feeling in his chest. It brought him back to the days leading up to when Andal Brask was found. Shiro had tried to reach him several times, each resulting in failure. That didn’t mean he was dead. There had been several times, sometimes for weeks at a time, when Andal wouldn’t answer. He was a true Hunter at heart. When he was out in the wilds, he shut himself off from the rest of the world and only focused on himself and his surroundings. But it had been different that time. Andal had just became the Hunter Vanguard, and his duties put him on a short leash. His absence was unusual, and it didn’t surprise Shiro when Cayde carried his corpse into the City. 

The City lit up at the news. Hunter Vanguards disappear all the time, but there’s never enough evidence to prove their deaths. Some part of him wanted to believe Andal was still alive, somewhere out in South America, unearthing relics and civilizations of old. But Andal Brask was dead. He wasn’t out adventuring in South America. His body was right here. Dead.

The news hadn’t really hit him until later. Cayde felt guilty, for obvious reasons. But for awhile, Shiro felt nothing except a slight anger and tightness in his chest. He hated Andal for letting this happen, for not being careful. Deep down, he hated himself too. He’d always blamed Andal for taking up the role as Hunter Vanguard after his Dare with Cayde. His distain had turned their friendship bitter and had remained bitter until Andal’s death. Shiro still regretted his harshness. Andal hadn’t deserved it, but Andal would never know that. 

The Consensus arose in panic, worried that Andal’s death was just the beginning of a Fallen plot to take the City. It wasn’t long until the City began to feel constricting, and the streets seemed to narrow, closing him in. He had to leave, and he did. He took a sniper, headed out into the Cosmodrome, and channeled his anger, his grief, into something useful. That’s how he healed. He didn’t need comfort or to “talk about it.” All he needed was space. At least, that’s what he used to think. Shiro would be willing to give away all his Glimmer if it meant he could see and talk to Cayde. He didn’t want to be sitting on some old ship in the middle of the system. The City was his home, Cayde was his friend. He needed to get back to what’s important. 

He opened his eyes to Aimi. She was still drifting in front of his face but she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were down the hall. “Look who it is,” she disappeared with a flash. 

Shiro looked out of the hut where Aimi had been looking. Ming was walking down the hall towards him. He leaned forward a bit to see inside and gave Shiro a wave. Shiro didn’t wave back. 

“Hey, brother,” Ming greeted. He stepped over a pile of gun parts on the floor. “How you doin’?”

“Better,” Shiro answered.

“That’s good,” he said. “That’s really good.” As Ming approached Shiro’s eyes caught on the glint of light bouncing off of the glass he held in his hand. Ming glanced down at it then glanced back to Shiro. “Uh, here. Some water if you need it,” he pushed the glass into Shiro’s hands and stepped back. 

For a moment, Ming rocked back and forth on his heels. His eyes flicked about the room, trying to find something to look at. Shiro narrowed his eyes at Ming. He was acting strangely, almost as if he was antsy about something. He wasn’t doing a good job of hiding it. 

“What is it,” Shiro asked.

Ming caved immediately. “Ah, how do I say this in a way that won’t make you freak out,” He paused for a moment, thinking before he spoke. “I think my, ah, radio picked up a transmission from your commander.” 

“What,” Shiro stood too fast and nearly bumped his head on the top bunk. “What did he say?!” 

Ming watched him as he kicked the sleeping bag from around his leg. “Hah, maybe we should wait until this wears off a bit more.”

“I am worn off,” Shiro shook his head. “I mean—this... drunkenness is worn off. Yeah. My head’s completely clear, so I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that.” 

Ming glanced at the floor with a genuine laugh in his chest. “I’m not so sure about that, but if you say so.” He turned and beckoned Shiro to follow with a wave of his arm. “Radio’s in the cockpit. I’ll let you hear it yourself.” 

Shiro half walked/half tripped across the floor of the hut and into the slick hallway. Shiro’s boot slipped on the ice and he nearly fell, but he regained his balance. He glanced down at the floor and the thin sheet of ice covering it. Had it been this icy before? He had no time to think about it any further. Drifter was still walking as if he was following him. Shiro picked up his pace, stepping carefully to not slip.

“When did you receive it,” Shiro asked as he and Ming walked side by side to the cockpit, through the decorated living room they’d been in last night. 

“Sometime during the early morning hours,” he answered. 

“Is it good news?” Shiro asked, his chest tightening.

“Didn’t listen to it yet. Thought I’d save the recording for you.” 

“Oh,” Shiro nodded. “Okay.” 

“Here. Just over here,” Ming walked to the opposite side of the decorated room.

There was a separate railed walkway on this side of the room that Shiro hadn’t noticed the night before. This walkway was shorter and winded around a corner before emptying out into a smaller room with two chairs and control panels. Just beyond the control panels was a large one-way window, and an expanse of endless stars. 

Shiro blinked and looked back at Ming. He had climbed onto one of the seats to reach overhead for a button on the ceiling. He pressed a certain combination and a metal compartment swung down. Ming grabbed the compartment before it swung off its hinges and steadied it. He looked back at Shiro. “Alright. You ready?”

“Yeah. Play it,” Shiro said. Every nerve in his body tingled in anticipation. It had been so long since he’s heard another familiar voice. This would be the first thing he heard from the Tower in weeks. The first time he knows what’s going on. He stood behind Ming, clutching the back of the seat as if he were about to be sucked out into space.

“This is Commander Zavala...” the message began. Shiro stiffened. “The City is lost...” 

Zavala’s words sent a chill down Shiro’s spine. He could hear the emotional distress in his commander’s voice, almost as if the Titan was standing in front of him. Shiro listened, but the voice went silent. For several painfully long heartbeats, the message broke out into ininteligible static. The message had been scrambled from the distance it had to travel to reach them. This might be it. This might be the last thing he ever hears from the City. It could be gone, everyone could be dead, and he could be too late. 

Ming glanced at him with a sad expression on his face. He mumbled something along the lines of an apology. Shiro ignored him. He kept his eyes on the radio and focused on the static. His hands tightened into fists where they clutched the seat, sending tension up through his arms.

From behind him, Ming spoke. “I think that’s—“

“...But we will not fall to the Red Legion,” Zavala’s words broke through the static, silencing Ming. “...If there is any Light left in the system, we rally on Titan.” The message ended, clear-cut with no static. 

Shiro and Ming looked at each other. Ming turned around in the seat and broke into a smile. Shiro, on the other hand, was motionless. This was amazing news, but he didn’t know what to do. He felt lightheaded, like he was about to faint again, but he also felt on top of the world. His muscles began to anxiously twitch. He felt like he needed to be moving right now. He needed to be doing something. There was still hope for the City, so he needed to do something.

“We have to get this ship turned around ASAP,” Shiro finally moved. His hands reached out unconsciously for something to grab and locked onto the other man’s upper arms.

“Already ahead of you,” Ming pulled out of his grasp and turned to adjust the Derelict’s flight path. 

Shiro still moved, filled with a newfound energy, newfound hope. He bagan to pace the cockpit which soothed the energy surging up in his body. 

“Titan. That’s one of Saturn’s moons, right,” Shiro’s mind was running a hundred miles a minute. He talked to himself as he thought. Ming finished with the controls and turned to watch him. “Marine structures, namely the New Pacific Arcology, dating back to the Golden Age. Mostly run down, broken equipment, and long-abandoned science projects. Not a military base... So, why Titan?” 

Shiro pivoted to pace the other way. Ming stepped out of his way as he passed. “Of course! It’s a big enough complex to support an army. All we would need to do is transport ships and weapons and the Arcology will have everything else. It was built before the Traveler terraformed it, so it will have enough resources to self-sustain itself.” 

“But there’s only more problems from there.” Ming jumped out of Shiro’s way again as he continued. “No one’s been up there for maintenance since the Collapse, unless the original population somehow survived hundreds of years of isolation, which is impossible. So there could be major system failures, or weakness in the support system holding the Arcology above sea level.” 

Shiro stopped abruptly. “But all of that can be fixed with time. What’s important now is that they’re alive. There’s still hope for the City.” 

“True that,” Ming nodded. 

“How do you feel about going to Titan?” Shiro glanced over his shoulder at Ming.

Ming had been following him pace. He shrugged, “I mean, I could go for some sushi right now.” 

Shiro breathed, holding back a grin from Ming’s bad joke. “It’s a methane ocean on Titan.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Ok. Just so you know what your potential food could be swimming in.” 

“Not like I haven’t had worse,” Ming laughed. 

“I hope not worse than that drink last night,” Shiro teased. 

“Hey, you said you liked it,” Ming faked a frown. 

Shiro didn’t have a comeback to that. Even though he tried to form one, nothing came out. The room dropped into a silence, sending a tingling feeling up Shiro’s nerves. He shook it off, bringing the conversation back to Titan. “How long do you think it will take to get to Titan?”

Ming glanced out the window. He pulled his lips to the side as he thought. “Eh, probably around three weeks or so.”

“Three weeks?” Shiro asked in disbelief. 

“Well, we’re basically back on Earth, and Saturn is pretty far in her orbit around the Sun. So, to catch up we’re gonna have to go the other way. We could get there faster, but the time of year is just not ideal.” 

“That might be too long,” Shiro mumbled. 

“I don’t like it either,” Ming admitted. “Going this slow means whatever got your City might get us next. But there’s nothing we can do ‘cept wait.” 

Shiro stepped around the seat towards the window and gazed into the stars. His mind was already thinking of another way they could get to Titan faster. Three weeks could be too late, not just for the others, but for them. The Red Legion could be on their way to Titan too. Going this slow, there would be no escape from the Red Legion. They’d be shot down. 

A thought sparked into Shiro’s mind. He spun around to Ming. “Or, since we’re already turned around, we could head back to Mars and use its gravitational pull to slingshot ourselves towards Saturn.”

Ming paused to absorb Shiro’s plan. “We could,” he agreed. “It may not make a difference, but we could try it.” 

Shiro sidestepped to give Ming room to stand at the control panel. Ming’s arm brushed up against Shiro’s shoulder as he flicked on a few switches. “There, there, and there.” He glanced at him. “I think this is gonna work.” 

Shiro nodded, his mind still whirling on the technicalities of the plan. He gave a tiny shake of his head to clear it, “Yeah. I’m pretty confident this will work.” 

Ming’s eyes lingered on him for a moment. “You know, it’s good having a tactician on the crew.” 

Shiro met his gaze. For a moment, he held it. Ming’s face was genuine and honest, and gave out a sense of warmth. It would be so easy to fall into it. Shiro broke eye contact and returned his gaze to the stars and the distant planets looming some hundreds of million miles away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time around as I try to revive this fic.

Shiro constantly has to remind himself—or be reminded by Aimi—that they’ve only been aboard the Derelict for two weeks. It feels like it’s been years, but when he asks Aimi to confirm the date in her systems, she always responds with a much shorter time than he expects.

It’s really hard for him to believe that time is passing by so slowly. Time always moves so fast when he’s in the wilds, prone, sniper in hand, and lining up for the shot of a lifetime. Now, time’s moving slow, and he is painfully aware of it. All of the seconds ticking by are seconds that he could be using to help the Vanguard reclaim the City for humanity. Instead, he’s stuck on the Derelict for what could very well be indefinite.

Shiro sighed, returning his focus to the old weapon frame he found in the back of the ship, a design that predates any he’s seen before. He’d taken the entire rifle apart and laid it out piece by piece, kit-bashing it back together with other spare parts. He found gunsmithing as a major stress relief. It gave him something to focus on, something to think about that wasn’t the City, or Cayde, or the fact that they just lost their own planet.

A garbled noise interrupted the groove Shiro had established with his tinkering and he tilted his head up to see Wu Ming entering the main room from one of the back hallways. There was a miniature radio in one hand, transmitting all of these horrendous screeches that could only be Fallen. Ming looked up at Shiro and opened his mouth to greet him, but closed it when he saw the weapon in his hands.

“I can put it back how it was if you want me to,” Shiro quickly offered.

Ming shook his head, breaking his gaze from Shiro’s hands. “Nah, keep it like that.” He padded across the metal grated floor and took a seat on the sofa across from Shiro, the same sofa he had sat on a few weeks ago when they’d talked and Shiro got much more wasted than he had intended. He both smiled and cringed at the memory.

Ming set the radio on the table beside them, messing with the dials. Shiro watched Ming’s movements for a moment longer, but when the man seemed to be entirely focused on the radio, he looked back down at the rifle.

Shiro snapped new sight into place. He placed it far back on the frame, but not too far back that it would interfere with the angle. He wanted this to be a long-ranged rifle. The new sniper sight would help with that, but now he needed a replacement for the internal mechanics so the gun would have a farther shot. He’d have to find something to tear this thing open.

Shiro looked up from the rifle in his lap to try to find a long, pointed object that could serve as a screwdriver to loosen the screws, and then he needed something else to remove the pins. His eyes scanned the table in front of him before they caught onto Ming. The man was analyzing the rifle in his hands. His gaze lingered before it flickered up to Shiro’s.

“Hey. You’re pretty good at that,” Ming commented, glancing down at the rifle in Shiro’s lap.

“I have to be,” Shiro gave up his search and moved to sift through the parts he had tucked between himself and the back of the couch, retrieving a grip. “Scout work requires me to think fast and make the most of what I have.”

Ming was still watching him, and although he wasn’t Exo, Shiro could see the gears moving inside his head as he watched. Ming smiled all of a sudden as if he’d just been told a joke. “Useful skill,” he said passively. “Maybe you can help me design a weapon. Heh. Well, when all of this is over.”

“I could start it now,” Shiro offered. “What do you need? Scout rifle? Fusion? And then, of course, I’d need to know the alterations you want.”

The side of Ming’s lip twitched upwards. “Eh, I’m not really lookin’ for alterations. I’m thinking bigger. But it can wait until my Gambit’s in its prime.”

Shiro angled his eyes to look back at him. From Ming’s expression, he could tell that the man wanted him to ask what ‘Gambit’ was. So he did.

Ming laughed. “It’s this little thing I got cookin’ up. Keeping it on the down-low for now, but it’ll make you rich, brother.”

“That would be wonderful,” Shiro was more focused on the rifle in his hands than Ming. Or at least he was trying to be.

“It’s gonna be. First, we get to your friends, then the second we figure all this out, I think I better introduce it to them,” he sat back, sounding pleased with himself. “I’m gonna need participants. A lotta them.”

“Is this an offer?” Shiro asked.

Another shrug from Ming. “It could be.”

The radio garbed again, cutting Ming off. They both watched the small device, listening to the Fallen voices.

“Can you understand it?” Shiro asked out of curiosity.

“Somewhat,” he shrugged casually.

“How,” Shiro looked up from the kit-bashed rifle he was putting together. He hadn’t been expecting a ‘yes.’

“I’ve been around, seen a lot, heard a lot,” was his answer.

“Do you know what they’re saying?” Shiro asked. “I can translate messages back at the Tower, but never on the fly.”

Ming paused a moment. “‘Ight, you kinda put me on the spot...”

“So, you can’t speak it?”

“Don’t need to speak it to understand it,” he defended. “Here, let me just mess with it a second.

Ming’s ‘messing with it’ included switching the channels. Most of the feedback was still garbled and Shiro looked back to the weapon in his hands. He nearly missed the English flying out of the device.

“To all Guardians...” A voice—Commander Zavala—sounded only to be quickly replaced by more static.

Shiro jumped to his feet, tossing the rifle to the floor. “Get it back,” his voice was strained in desperation.

“I’m tryin,’” Ming grunted. “There we go!”

“...It is too late...” Commander Zavala spoke with a sort of heaviness in his voice. “The Hive have overwhelmed our forces... Fall back...”

The two of them waited a full minute, then another. The static on the other end droned on endlessly.

“Well... He said to fall back,” Ming slowly reached around Shiro to the controls.

“No,” Shiro’s arm shot out at Ming’s, pinning it before he could reach the main controls. “We need to keep going.”

“That could get us killed, sweetheart,” he watched him through narrowed eyes. “We don’ know if they’re alive.”

“We need to try,” he kept his eyes on the device.

Ming sighed. “Shiro, come on. That message was from days ago. If they’re gettin’ overrun by the Hive there’s a good chance they’re dead.”

Shiro didn’t respond. All the cords in his frame pulled tight as he waited for another voice. That couldn’t be it... They just couldn’t get a transmission through. The others are still alive. They have to be...

Ming’s voice softened. “Listen to your commander. Titan’s a lost cause. We die if we go there. So can I turn the ship around?”

He still didn’t respond.

“Well, can I?” Ming asked.

“I’m thinking,” Shiro couldn’t help the bite to his tone. He didn’t want to turn the ship around. They were heading in the direction they should be going: to Titan. Any survivors will be there, and he’d be a fool not to join up.

“Shiro, brother... They’re dead,” Ming continued. “I’ve seen Risen get torn apart by Hive with Light. Now without Light... I can’t even imagine.”

“Fine...” his voice sounded weak. “Turn the ship around.” He grabbed his rifle and headed for the back of the ship without another word.

“Hey, you ain’t mad at me right?” Ming started to follow him but stopped when he threw a glare over his shoulder.

“Just turn the ship around.”


End file.
